


Not Very Good with Violence

by captainnperfecthair



Category: Marvel, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Charles learns to fight!, Erik is just really concerned, Gen, M/M, Poor Charles, Protective Erik, Sparring, that's about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainnperfecthair/pseuds/captainnperfecthair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Think I’ll ever beat you in a match?” Charles asks.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Not likely,” Erik answers with a laugh, and Charles glowers at him, feeling more determined than ever now. “But you’re welcome to try,” he adds, spreading out his arms so he’s totally opened and vulnerable to attack.</i></p><p>  <i>Charles takes a couple steps toward him. Erik’s still grinning at him tauntingly. And now, whether it’s with a fist or a kiss, Charles is going to wipe that smug-ass grin off his face.</i></p><p>Shaw's attack on the CIA has a lasting effect on everyone, including those who weren't even there. Both Erik and Charles are concerned about the newfound knowledge that Shaw has a telepathy-resistant helmet, but when those concerns begin to seep into Charles' dreams Erik decides to take action. And so begins Charles' lessons in self-defense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Very Good with Violence

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by that bamf Charles scene in X-Men: Apocalypse (before the not so bamf Charles scene) when he punches Apocalypse. I figured that if Charles learned any degree of self-defense then he would've learned it from Erik. And so this fic idea was hatched. It was only further aided by a rewatching of X-Men: First Class when I noticed in the scene where Erik gives that little piece of advice that could save her life about not dividing her attention between what she's doing and her appearance that there was a set of old-fashioned boxing gloves and I think a punching bag, too! While I don't think Charles ever really used it, I bet Kurt and/or Cain did. And I bet Erik would try to make use of it once he decides Charles needs to learn a few things about self-defense!
> 
> Also, just keep in mind that they only know that Shaw has the helmet. They don't realize yet that he's a mutant, so that's why they think that Charles learning to fight will help him against a presumably human enemy whose only protection is the helmet and his band of mutants, not himself, too.

Erik wakes up in a panic, not quite sure why at first. As he evens his breathing and surveys his surroundings to ensure that there’s no threat, he slowly recalls what his reason for panicking is and immediately looks to his left. There, turning in his sleep with a sheen of sweat and a tight look on his face, is Charles. The nightmare that awoke him now begins to come back to him and the words the telepath is muttering fearfully, breathlessly, help to contextualize the horrid dream even further.

The nightmare, which belonged to Charles and not himself, almost seemed real. Like a memory. Erik didn’t want to consider that Charles’ childhood was any worse than the sparse mementos scattered about the mansion and the man’s actions since arriving here indicated, but here was the truth in the bed beside him. It's a terrible memory that is seared into Erik's mind now, too, and too deeply rooted in him at this point for him to shake.

And it seems Charles can’t shake it either.

“Charles,” Erik calls gently at first, putting a hand on the tremoring telepath’s shoulder. Charles recoils from the touch and shouts out in protest, and Erik pointedly ignores the way his stomach churns at the implications of this. He’d only had a glimpse of what was still plaguing Charles in his sleep, but it had been terrible enough. The feeling of helplessness had been crippling. The discomforting feeling still lingers in Erik now, like a foul aftertaste.

“Charles, _Schatz,_ it’s only a bad dream. Wake up,” Erik says a tad louder now, squeezing Charles’ shoulder more firmly this time. The only response he gets is Charles twisting in the sheets some more and Erik frowns.

Gently he pulls the other mutant towards him, pulling him into an embrace as he repeatedly murmurs, “You’re dreaming, Charles. It’s just a dream. Wake up, it’s only a dream.” And because Charles has taught him a little bit about how to send and block telepathic messages, Erik tries to project a sense of calm and awareness that will help tear the younger man out of his terrible nightmare.

“Stop! STO--” With a shout, Charles jerks out of Erik’s arms and scrambles into an upright position as his eyes dart around the bedroom, his bedroom, that he and Erik have been sharing as of late although certainly not to the children’s knowledge. “Erik…” he breathes, still greedily taking in air as he fights to calm himself down inside much like Erik had several minutes ago.

“Right here, Charles,” Erik replies, reaching out and grasping the other man’s arm. “C’mere,” he beckons, the hand on Charles’ arm and the look on his face inviting the telepath to take comfort in his embrace without his having to do anything else. The dream was a terrible memory, not just a vivid fantasy, and Erik knows to let the man have his space if he wants it. He’s been in Charles' place, after all.

He hesitates, but slowly Charles crawls back toward him and tucks his head neatly into the crook of Erik’s neck and lays on his side, facing Erik. “I’m sorry, I woke you, didn’t I?”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Erik assures him, even though he knows Charles will continue to insist there is.

“And I projected, didn’t I?” Charles asks abashedly.

“It doesn’t matter, I’d have woken up at some point regardless. I’m a light sleeper.” After so many years of having no one to look out for him but himself and the many years on the road in strange places, how could he not be?

“Oh God,” Charles sighs, shamefully burying his face further into Erik. “God, I haven’t done that in _years."_

“It’s this place, isn’t it? Being back here.”

Charles lifts his head and looks up at him. “Noticed, have you?” he says softly, without any sort of malice. Erik isn’t even sure Charles can  _do_ malice.

“You hinted at it several times during the recruitment trips, but I had no idea, Charles.” But now that he thought about it, everything from the past few days since they arrived in Westchester began to make sense. The way Charles seemed to have drawn into himself, the concerned looks his sister kept giving him, the obfuscating when someone asked a question he clearly didn’t want to answer…

He knew something had been off when Raven gave everyone a tour of the house immediately upon arrival. Erik remembered himself having expected Charles to be right alongside her, animatedly chiming in with little tidbits about the mansion and the Xavier family’s history or whatever that Raven either didn’t recall, didn’t know, or didn’t care to mention. But instead, Charles had lingered behind the group and behind Erik. He’d walked slowly, solemn and taciturn the entire time. Erik thought he looked like a haunted man, the way he walked with that distant, subdued look on his face; the dulled blue eyes which were normally glimmering with a ridiculous amount of hope and naivety and brilliance. When they’d gotten to the west wing of the house, Charles had abandoned the tour altogether, excusing himself to go plot out room arrangements for everyone. Raven had been flustered for a few moments and slow to regain control of the tour. She hurriedly pressed through the west wing, mentioning how it was a part that went largely unused nowadays (as if the furniture covered in sheets and the light filtering through the windows revealing floating flecks of dust didn’t speak for themselves) and pointing to a closed door which she told them was Charles’ father’s study but nothing else.

There were few pictures around the house, but those that did remain told Erik that the Xaviers weren’t a very tight knit family. Hell, he might not have even known they were a family if he were some stranger visiting the house without any knowledge of them.  The picture of greatest note, however, was the one in the kitchen with a young Charles standing with his mother, neither looking very happy to be posing for the photo, and standing at least a foot apart from one another. There was no motherly affection and the young Charles seemed to not be under any illusions about his mother’s love for him, either. There were no pictures of Charles’ father to be seen anywhere in the mansion. They certainly weren't what Erik would have considered 'family photos'. It hurt him to consider the difference between the Xavier photos and what photos of his own family might've looked like if they'd ever been able to take any.

“Yes, I’d imagine so,” Charles says warily.

“Care to talk about it?” Erik offers, but the telepath shakes his head.

“Not tonight. Not now. I think I’ll go make myself a cup of tea. You can go back to sleep, it’s alright,” he insists as he scoots away from Erik and toward the edge of the bed.

“I’ll stay up with you. It’s not like I’m going to be falling back asleep any time soon, either,” Erik says, following his lead.

Charles stops, sitting at the edge of the bed. He turns his head to look at him. “How much did you see?”

“Not much. Just enough to know it wasn’t pleasant,” Erik answers. He saw enough to know Charles was abused as a child by his step-father. To know that Charles’ step-brother had taken part in the abuse as well, but mostly because of his father’s cruelty to the pair of them. To know that Charles had not always fought back against his tormentors because he was afraid to use his powers and didn’t know how.

Charles stares at him for a long moment before he finally turns away and gets up off the bed. Erik follows.

Erik is watching from the kitchen table as Charles brews a couple cups for the pair of them, and it’s as Charles is staring at the pot while waiting for it to boil that he finally speaks.

“That’s not normally the memory I dream about, you know,” he says quietly, and Erik doesn’t dare say a thing. “As unpleasant as it was, I wasn’t afraid and I wasn’t helpless when he--when Kurt abused me. Well, I was afraid, but not terribly so. I was more afraid of what would happen if I tried to avoid him or if I mouthed off too much. I was trying to keep Kurt as...placated as possible so he didn’t go after Raven or Cain, my step-brother. Cain only hurt me because his father did it. And because his father did it not just to me, but to him, as well.” He turns around, plating his palms on the counter and leaning against it as he looks down at the tiles, not meeting Erik’s eyes. “I usually dream about the fire and--” he shakes his head, a pained look ghosting across his face that Erik can still clearly make out even in the dim lighting of the kitchen. Charles squeezes his eyes shut a moment, clearing his head and obviously deciding not to veer into whatever territory that he’s nearly set foot into. He starts again. Erik has the desire to ask, but the compulsion and self-control not to dare asking, what fire he’s referring to. He'll tell Erik when he's ready.

“This was different because I didn’t have my powers for some reason. I couldn’t fend him off like I would have been able to do when I was that age and things got too violent. I couldn’t keep suggesting to him, telepathically, that he’d already gotten his kicks--pun unintended--you see. I couldn’t control my powers that well yet. I was afraid I’d slip up or he’d somehow catch on and take it out on Raven.

“Instead, I let him go at it and if he got too violent, I was strong enough and comfortable enough with my abilities to plant the suggestion in his head that he was satisfied and gotten it out of his system for the time being.”

“So this wasn’t completely a memory,” Erik chimes in, still dumbfounded at all the information Charles is giving him about his childhood. God, Erik would have never thought...All the trauma that he’d experienced within his own home, amongst his own family. However brief his own life in a home with his entire family had been, Erik couldn't deny that the few years he did experience there were the most blissful ones of his life up until now, with Charles. He couldn't imagine his own home and his own family being such a source of pain and trauma. And yet, with all the suffering he had faced Charles was so kind and hopeful. It was easily one of the most frustrating and incredible things about Charles.

“No,” Charles says, glancing up at him. The pot whistles, signaling the water has boiled. He absently pours their cups and joins Erik at the table with a cup in each hand. Erik takes his as he continues. “No, it was mostly a memory but the lack of telepathy was entirely new and terribly frightening. Because of my telepathy, I suppose, my dreams can sometimes seem quite more realistic than those of the typical human being. It felt all too real. The fear--The _fear_ felt all too real,” he says, staring down into his steaming cup of freshly brewed Earl Grey.

“Perhaps your subconscious is trying to tell you something?”

Charles’s eyes flit up to meet his for just a moment, something in them catching Erik’s attention; some unspoken words that he decides against saying aloud, before they return to the murky contents of the teacup before him.

Erik is pretty sure just where Charles' thoughts have led him, as Erik's have led him to somewhere similar.

The attack on the CIA headquarters had revealed to them something that they had not known before and which changed things immensely: Shaw had a helmet that was built to be impervious to psionic, or telepathic, attacks. Shaw had a way to defend himself against Charles and his mutation. Essentially, Charles would be powerless in a fight against Shaw so long as the bastard had that damn helmet.

Erik remembers when the children had given them a near play by play of the events of that night. When they’d gotten to the bit about Shaw’s interest in whether Charles was present and the helmet, even Charles had paled a bit despite his attempt to remain stoic and composed in front of the children. The helmet has been plaguing Erik himself ever since he found out about it. It made taking Shaw down that much trickier and, when he was being truly honest with himself about his feelings for a certain brown-haired, blue-eyed telepath, it made him very nervous.

“If you’re worried about Shaw, Charles--”

“What?” This time when his eyes come up to look at Erik, they stay focused on him instead of fleeing toward the teacup once more.

“You’re worried about Shaw and the helmet Raven and the others described. You’re worried you’ll be useless in a fight against him.”

Charles sighs and lifts his cup. He takes a large gulp, almost like he’s downing a shot, and sets it back down. “If that helmet works, which I assume it does because he probably tested it on Emma or the Russians tested it out on someone else before he put it to practical use, then I will be,” he answers flatly.

“I don’t like the idea of you being defenseless around him, either, but you won’t be. Not completely,” Erik says, a thought brewing in his head now.

“I’m sorry, did you miss the part where I said that the helmet that blocks psionic attacks _probably works_ and will therefore render me useless and defenseless?” Charles shoots back dryly.

Erik ignores the sarcasm. “After I left the camps and recovered, I started training with the Mossad. I can teach you some of the defensive techniques they taught me. It’s no mutation, but it’ll make me feel a little less worried about you when we have to face off against Shaw.”

The telepath raises a brow at him, incredulous. “You want to--Erik, I appreciate the sentiment, but even if I can learn those techniques I doubt I’d be able to implement them. I’m not very good with violence, if you recall.”

“We can start this evening. I’ll teach you what I can and at least you’ll have the knowledge if you need to call upon it,” Erik says, gentle in his tone but firm in his decision. He’s set on doing this whether Charles likes it or not. “Everyone else is training, why not you, as well? Always something new to learn, as you say?”

Charles sighs. “Alright, we’ll start tonight.”

Erik smiles over the rim of his teacup. “Looking forward to it.”

* * *

 

Before dinner, Erik drags Charles along to the personal gym that, of course, the Xavier estate is equipped with. “Punch me,” he says, standing in the middle of the room with his arms out and his typical mask of stoicism on his face.

“What?” Charles blinks.

“I need to see what I’m working with, now _punch me_ ,” he says, more sternly this time.

Wide blue eyes gaze back at him for a long moment, Charles clearly trying to work up the nerve to punch Erik. Erik simultaneously wants to roll his eyes and kiss him because it’s the kindness and compassion that so exceedingly defines Charles Xavier that makes Erik love him. And, sometimes, can’t stand the telepath when that part is combined with his naivety.

“ _Komm schon_ , Charles. You won’t hurt me.”

Charles gives a small nod, sucks in a deep breath, and then reels back his fist.

Erik stumbles back with the force of Charles’ hit. His brows shoot up in surprise and he clutches his cheek as he looks at the telepath standing in front of him who is clutching the hand he just used to punch him and bent in on himself slightly, wincing but clearly trying to hide it for Erik’s sake.

“Let me see it,” Erik instantly demands, stepping over to him and reaching for the hand.

“I just punched you in the face and you want to know if _I’m_ alright?” Charles laughs, but doesn’t protest when Erik takes a hold of it and examines it. “It’s fine, I’m sure. I always seem to do that whenever I do, however rarely, throw a punch.”

“So you have done it before,” Erik muses quietly, glancing up at him.

“Cain, once. And two times during my earlier days at Oxford when I um...got into a bit of a...shall we say ‘disagreement’ at a pub with a couple _gentlemen_.” Charles’s cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment and he refuses to meet Erik’s eyes.

Now _that_ Erik had not expected! Charles, getting into bar fights? Honestly, he wishes he’d been around for that! If only so he could step in and fight on the telepath’s behalf when he inevitably lost the fight. Because Erik is _positive_ that Charles is all bark and no bite. He barks out a laugh.

“One of them was being rather rude to Raven and the other called me a--”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Charles.” He turns the hand under inspection over and then pats it, satisfied with the results he’s come to. “No injury, just bad form.”

“Ah, yes. Not having to cradle my hand afterwards would be lovely,” Charles deadpans.

And so the lessons begin, with Erik showing him how to improve his stance and form a better fist. And when he thinks Charles has got it, he lets him have another go at him. Again, Charles is a tad hesitant but doesn’t need any convincing from Erik, just a moment to collect himself before he throws his next punch. This time, Erik gives him top marks and Charles only winces a little but doesn’t cradle his hand afterwards.

“I was scouting this place earlier and found this old boxing bag. I want you to practice for half an hour just working on your stance, your breathing, and your technique for a while before we do anything else,” Erik says, turning away and grabbing the punching bag from where it sat limply against the wall. He gestures with his hand and the hook comes flying through the air and digs itself into the ceiling. Erik hangs it and waves a hand for Charles to step forward. “I’ll hold the bag steady and keep an eye on how you’re doing.”

And so the training goes for a few days until, finally, Erik decides they’re ready to try a little sparring. At this point, in between Charles practicing with the bag, Erik teaches him a couple different moves and blocks so he knows how to defend and offend.

Finally, one evening they reach the gym and after a brief warm-up, Erik takes his grey sweatshirt off and tosses it to the wall. “Today, we’re going to start sparring.”

“What?”

“Take off your sweatshirt and get into your stance.”

“Erik, I couldn’t possibly--”

“Charles, I know you’re a pacifist and loathe violence, so think of this as merely self-defense, not fighting.”

Charles takes a few steps into the room, looking a little less hesitant now, but not quite ready to spar.

“If you want the nightmares to stop and you want to be sure you can do _something_ when you come up against Shaw, even if it’s just some lousy human hand to hand combat, then you need to do this. The skills are useless if untested and unpracticed. I’m sure you know that, Charles.”

“I don’t know if the nightmares will necessarily stop just because I learn to throw better punches, Erik,” he answers warily.

“If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for Raven. Protect yourself so you can protect her. Or is Raven not enough motivation for you?” Erik shoots back, staring back at Charles with a challenging look.

Charles’ expression sours. “That’s not it--”

“Whatever you were afraid Kurt or Cain would do if they got their hands on her, Shaw would do ten times worse. He’d want to know how her mutation works, and he wouldn’t do that just by asking her. No, he’d be interested in the science of it. He’d want to put her on a table--”

“Stop it,” Charles snaps, voice low and dangerous.

“In the camps he had countless tools at his disposal. But his resources were still limited. Now, imagine what he can do--”

“He will _never_ get his hands on her,” Charles practically growls, face reddening and fists clenching. Erik grins to himself, seeing his technique working even if he doesn’t like it. Even if it makes Charles upset with him.

Erik continues, though, like he hasn’t heard the telepath at all. “--with all the money and connections he has. If the Russians could make him a telepathy-resistant helmet, imagine what else they could give him.”

“Erik,” Charles warns, teeth clenching and body radiating anger.

“He wouldn’t want to harm her too much, though, just ‘unlock’ her abilities. Once he did that, he’d want to have her on his side. Now that he’s got Emma, that’d be easier than ever. He could recover Emma from the CIA and then completely remake Raven’s mi--”

With a loud cry and his fists clenched, Charles dives after him, throwing a punch intended right for his face. Erik blocks it, and so the sparring starts, although the telepath is too incensed to actually use much of what Erik taught him. He’s all brute force and instinct, no thought. Erik will show him now how deadly a mistake that is, to get caught up in the storm inside and forget to calculate. After this, getting Charles to spar in the future shouldn’t be as much of a struggle.

Charles doesn’t manage to land a single solid blow, Erik either blocking his fists or dodging them. Erik doesn’t throw any punches yet. He lets Charles get it out of his system while showing him how to be defensive.

The anger morphs into annoyance at not being able to land a punch. And then the anger dissipates entirely, and Charles is blindly continuing to get a hit until Erik catches his arm, twists it around so that he has the telepath’s arm behind his back, and then swings his foot. Charles goes crashing to the floor, Erik chasing him to the ground with the other man’s arm still firmly in his grip. Charles squirms, trying to wriggle out from beneath him. Erik stills, a knee planted on the small of Charles’ back and hands still holding his arm pinned behind him. The younger mutant struggles, breathing harsh and fast and shallow. Slowly, he stills as well.

With a sigh, Charles turns his face in toward the floor. “You’ve proved your point,” he says quietly, absolutely resigned as he lies flat on the floor completely defeated mentally and physically.

Erik releases him and gets up, offering a hand for him. Charles looks up, takes it, and heaves himself to his feet with a groan and with Erik’s assistance.

“I’m sorry to have goaded you like that,” Erik says after a long moment of silence between them where they both stand there, Charles catching his breath.

“No, I get it.”

“I’m still sorry, Charles.”

“Don’t be.” He rolls the shoulder of the arm Erik had pinned behind him, rubbing the joints to get feeling back into them and stretch the soreness out of himself. His eyes meet Erik’s. “But don’t say anything like that again.”

“I don’t think I’ll need to.”

“I want to go again,” Charles says then, unexpectedly.

Erik blinks. “What?”

“I was driven by my anger and wasn’t using any of the techniques or tactics you taught me. That’s why I went down so fast and so easily. I’m ready to try again this time now that I’ve calmed my mind,” Charles explains.

“I think once is enough for today. Trust me, by tomorrow you’ll be glad we only went one round.” He walks across the room, picking his sweatshirt up off the floor. “Let’s have dinner.”

* * *

 

The next evening they spar, Charles goes into the round level headed and not having needed coaxing from Erik. Over the next week and a half, they get into a routine of sparring almost every night after finishing training with the children and before dinner. Charles’ hesitancy disappears and it becomes quickly apparent that once Charles is fully devoted to mastering something, he’s a fast learner. Erik no longer holds his punches and despite this, between them both there are not a lot of bruises or cuts, just a lot of aches and pains the next day. And some hickies, but those aren’t exactly the result of their evening sparring matches…

So far, they’ve managed not to draw the attention of any of the other inhabitants of the mansion. No one has realized yet that Erik has begun to teach the pacifistic telepath how to fight hand-to-hand, but that unexpectedly changes on Thursday evening.

Erik is throwing punches and Charles is mostly attempting to block them, but another blow strikes him right in the stomach and sucks the breath out of him. He just manages to dodge Erik’s next blow, turning away from him and spinning back around. But instead of a neat turnabout and counterstrike, Charles gets a fist to the face.

“Sorry, _Liebling._ Not quick enough,” Erik says, sounding a little more amused than sorry. Charles scowls at him and tries to counterstrike again only for Erik to block that blow, do as Charles had attempted to do with the turnabout, and then crouch down as he swings his foot out. Charles is swept off his feet and Erik dives down to pin him to the ground, but Charles rolls away and gets back to his feet as quick as he can, stumbling only a little. His head, it seems, took a bit of a bruising with that fall.

Erik just as quickly gets back to his feet, smiling with approval. “Very good, Charles, but you’ll have to do better,” he says, striking three times in quick succession. Charles catches all three blows in the stomach and falls backwards a few steps. Erik grabs his arm and does a move similar to the one he did the evening before, pinning Charles’ arm behind his back. Instead of knocking him to the ground, though, Erik shoves him against the wall.

Determined not to be trapped again, Charles lifts his foot and stomps as hard as he can. He’s not sure if it truly hurts Erik, but it catches him off guard enough that he relinquishes a bit of his grip and takes a step back, and Charles uses that moment to use his free arm to swing a fist up into Erik’s face and knock him backwards. Erik completely loses his grip on the telepath and Charles uses this upperhand to turn around to face him and deal a blow to Erik’s stomach. Except Erik has bounced back quicker than expected and, of course, is better at dealing with pain and shoving it down. So he dodges Charles’ attack and counters. Charles blocks it successfully, grabbing Erik’s arm and uses the moment that the metallokinetic himself generated to help him swing Erik around so that he’s now the one up against the wall face first.

“I thought ‘fast learner’ only applied to books and science for you, but clearly I was wrong about that,” Erik says with a laugh.

“That’ll teach you to make assumptions.”

“But the student isn’t the master quite yet,” he adds before he somehow--he does it too fast for Charles to take note of how--twists himself free of the hold Charles had on his arm. In doing so, he twists himself and Charles around so that he’s no longer face against the wall and now has an arm around Charles’ neck and the telepath’s arm that had been pinning Erik down just moments earlier held behind his back keeping him still.

“Fuck,” Charles hisses, wriggling in the bigger man’s grasp.

“You got cocky, my friend,” Erik teases, lips right by Charles’ ear. He can feel the heat of Erik’s breath on his neck and the side of his face. He’s pretty sure his heartrate has just escalated to double the beats per minute it should be going, even in the midst of a sparring match.

But he’s not going to let his heart--or his _anything else,_ for that matter--rule his head right now. He’s got to win this fight. Despite all the progress he’s made, he’s still yet to win one. He thinks Erik takes more joy in it than he should and that it’s got to do with how Charles always wins their chess matches.

Remembering what Erik had taught him about getting out of and putting someone into chokeholds, Charles does what he was taught and when he creates some space between himself and Erik that makes the chokehold harder to retain--and would, if Erik were actually choking him, provide him with more breathing room--he steps back, hunched forward, so that his foot is behind Erik’s. Without even using his telepathy, Charles knows Erik will understand what he’s about to do. So to throw him off guard, Charles jabs an elbow into the other man’s gut and then bends his knees, turns 180 degrees around toward the foot he has locked behind Erik’s, and releases himself from the chokehold. He uses the rest of his momentum to try to knock Erik to the ground, but, since Erik knew what he was about to do since he taught it to him, he’s prepared. He wrenches his arm free of Charles’ and spins out of his reach before Charles can knock him down.

“Very nice,” Erik says, flashing him an approving smile.

“Thank you,” Charles replies breathlessly, smiling back. “But I was hoping I’d be able to knock you down.”

“The elbow was a nice touch, but not enough to stun me,” He answers with a smirk.

“Think I’ll ever beat you in a match?” Charles asks.

“Not likely,” Erik answers with a laugh, and Charles glowers at him, feeling more determined than ever now. “But you’re welcome to try,” he adds, spreading out his arms so he’s totally opened and vulnerable to attack.

Charles takes a couple steps toward him. Erik’s still grinning at him tauntingly. And now, whether it’s with a fist or a kiss, Charles is going to wipe that smug-ass grin off his face.

He puts his arms up in the standard pose, ready to strike or block at a moment’s notice. Erik crouches a bit, raising his arms up in an identical pose. They stand like that for a long moment and then Charles aims high with one arm, but at the last second draws back only to strike low with the other. Erik doesn’t fall for it, dodging the strike and scooting to the left. Charles pivots to face him head-on again. And so they begin to slowly circle around the room, Charles occasionally trying to throw a punch and Erik dodging it with annoying ease. Finally, after Charles manages a blow, Erik starts to try hitting back. He catches Charles once or twice, but the telepath manages to dodge most of them. They’re still going around in circles, both waiting for the other to pounce. Erik surely thinks it’s going to be Charles, and Charles thinks it will be Erik if he can wear out the man’s patience.

Seeing that this is going nowhere, Charles tries throwing a few punches in quick succession, aiming for any vulnerable and open spots in Erik’s defense. Erik again dodges them, but it drives him a couple of steps back and this becomes Charles’ goal: drive him back until he hits the wall, and then once he’s cornered him get him to surrender the fight.

But Erik isn’t having it. He refuses to give up the ground he has and seems to realize that Charles is trying to drive him backward. _Damn_. So just as Charles thinks he’s gaining an upper hand, Erik proves him wrong and starts rapidly throwing punch after punch, now driving Charles back. As Charles tries to strategize a way out of an impending defeat (yet again), he doesn’t register the mind or the footsteps accompanying it, that is approaching the gym.

The door opens and Charles glances away from his sparring partner to see who has unknowingly interrupted just as a woman’s voice gasps in surprise at the sight before her--” _Charles?!”_

“Ra--” he begins to say, gaping in similar surprise at her presence, but just as he does Erik chooses to strike, either not realizing or not caring that Charles’ focus has been stolen by the arrival of his sister.

It feels like a brick just collided with the side of his face and Charles is only conscious enough to realize it was actually just Erik’s fist and that that fucking _hurt_ before his vision tunnels into darkness.

* * *

 

“Jesus christ, Erik, you didn’t have to hit him that hard!”

“I didn’t! I just didn’t expect him to turn his head and be distracted! I thought he’d block me or dodge me!”

“Whatever, just get him awake. I don’t think he’s allowed to be unconscious at all for the first 6 or something hours if he has a concussion. Which he _does_ thanks to you.”

“Could you two please argue a bit less loudly?” Charles groaned from the couch he now found himself lying across. They were still in the private gym where he and Erik had been sparring and _good GOD_ his head hurt! He clutched his head and tried to sit himself up, but the room began to swirl around him, Erik and Raven’s faces meshing together into one blurry, colorful mesh of images.

“Whoa, easy there, tiger,” Raven said from somewhere to his right, but it was Erik’s hands that he felt grabbing onto him and steadily positioning him upright and keeping him there.

“Oh God, did I get _punched_ in the _face_?”

“Yes, _and_ you have a concussion from it. I’m pretty sure, at least. I didn’t fetch Hank yet.”

“No, no, no,” Charles said, suddenly more alert. “Please, Raven, there’s no need,” he insisted. “I’m _fine_.”

“Like hell you are! You were out for a good five or ten minutes! We were terrified! Well, I was terrified. Erik was mostly just kinda furious with himself. We thought you might come around on your own but we were just about done waiting when you finally decided it was about damn time,” Raven explained, furious with concern.

“Go. Get Hank,” Erik said, sensing that Raven needed the distraction so she could cool down a bit. When Charles attempted to protest, Erik gave him a look that silenced him and said, “You need him to have a look at you.”

Charles sighed, sounding rather petulant about it. Sure, when it was anyone else that was injured Charles was absolutely on top of that, radiating concern and pushing for the top medical services for the slightest of injuries. Now it’s his turn, and it seems he’s not as willing to let others fuss over him as he is willing to fuss over others.

“Yeah, I’ll go do that,” Raven muttered, turning and stalking out of the room.

As soon as she leaves, Charles turns his head towards Erik and his big blue eyes, which are somewhat out of focus and are certainly a sign indicative of a concussion, gaze up at him. “You know,” he drawls slowly, voice starting off low and attempting to sound sexy but really not quite hitting the mark given Charles’ current state, “I was just about to give up on the match entirely and just kiss you until you surrendered.” His eyes, all the meanwhile, are focusing on Erik’s lips. Or trying to, at least. He blinks languidly a few times, trying to steady his gaze.

“Charles,” Erik snips, though the usual steel in his voice isn’t there. Charles can hear how concerned he really is, despite his attempts to mask it even when they’re alone. It’s admirable, in a way, and something Charles adores about him but also finds a little sad. He’d thought that he had broken down those emotional barriers of Erik’s; that the metalbender was comfortable emoting himself freely in front of Charles. “Not one of your better seduction techniques with the state that you’re in, Charles.”

“Oh? We’ll see in the morning, shall we?” he grins.

Erik rolls his eyes. “You’re _concussed_ , Charles.”

“Concussed? Please,” Charles swats a hand lazily, accidentally smacking the back of the couch in the process. “Ow,” he mutters a second later, flinching. “I’m fine,” he says, and Erik takes a worrying note of how Charles slurs his response. Some reassurance that is.

“You’re a genetics professor, not an actual doctor, Charles. Let Hank have the final say.”

“How about we let that be the final thing _you_ say all night?” Charles purrs, leaning in to him and trying to plant a kiss on his lips. Erik gently pries him away.

“I don’t think so. I don’t think you’re in the state to be doing anything besides sitting still and waiting for Hank.”

“And Raven says that _I_ kill all the fun,” Charles grumbles. Erik’s eyes narrow. “C’mon, Erik, I can decide for myself what I am and am not in the state to be doing. And I’ve decided that I’m in a right state to be doing you,” he says, sagging forward to try to kiss him again. Erik easily pushes him back, trying to rest him against the back of the couch.

“Dammit, Charles, you have a concussion, stop trying to flirt with me!”

“What’s this about flirting?” a voice from the doorway calls. It’s Raven.

“Nothing,” Erik says.

“Erik, I’m tired,” Charles calls to him quietly from behind, his eyes drooping and eyelids fluttering as they struggle to stay open.

“Sorry, professor, but you can’t sleep quite yet,” Hank says as he scoots past Raven in the doorway and makes a beeline for Charles with a medkit in hand. He shoots Erik a wary look as he tries to position himself close enough to examine Charles. Erik silently, obediently, gets up and steps aside so Hank can have a look at him.

Hank goes through all of the customary checks and in the end, tells the professor that Erik and Raven were right. He has a concussion. “You should be able to go to sleep in a few hours, but I want you to stay awake for a while just to make sure no other symptoms pop up. Erik, Raven, come and get me if he has trouble walking or his pupils dilate or he seems to get any worse.”

Erik nods and Raven gives him a thumbs up. “You got it, doc,” she says, to which Hank blushes and shyly looks away.

“In three hours, he can go ahead and sleep. Rest is usually the best way to help heal these sorts of injuries. But every couple of hours someone needs to rouse him to make sure he’s able to be woken up,” Hank adds.

“I’m right here, Hank,” Charles irritably says from the couch, sick of them all talking like he isn’t in the room. Three pairs of eyes look toward him and then Erik and Raven look back at Hank expectantly.

“You were saying?” Raven prompts him, and he hastily looks away from Charles and back at Raven and Erik. Charles huffs out a sigh of irritation.

“Oh. Right. Uh...yes. He--I don’t want him sleeping for extended or normal amounts of time until tomorrow evening. Twenty-four hours should be enough for us to make sure there are no complications or worsening symptoms.”

“I’ll look after him,” Erik assures the young mutant.

“Alright,” Hank answers with a nod. “Well, that’s it for now. Charles, here’s a bottle of aspirin if you need it. Take it easy.”

“You, my friend, are a saint,” Charles says, taking the bottle and immediately uncapping it to take one. Hank exchanges a glance with Raven, but he says nothing. He nods, grabs his bag, and exits the room.

* * *

 

Raven leaves after about half an hour, when she feels he’s not in any immediate danger and is sure that Erik is looking after him. That leaves the pair of them alone for the evening, and Charles decides he doesn’t want to mess with their nightly routine so he insists on playing chess like they usually do. Erik brings their dinner to the study where they normally play instead of eating with the rest of the new residents of the Xavier Estate. He does get plenty of questions for the brief time he’s down there, though, which he shakes off with his customary glare. It silences Sean immediately. He pales, turning almost pure white, and raises his hands in defeat as he steps back and suddenly finds his mashed potatoes very fascinating. Alex raises an eyebrow. “All I was asking was if the professor was alright. It’s not an interrogation, man,” he moodily responds.

“He’s fine,” Erik had grunted back.

“How informative,” Alex deadpans, but he only glares back at Erik for a moment before turning away and sitting himself down at the table.

Given his concussion, however, Charles’ mind is a bit...addled. His telepathy slips a bit, occasionally allowing him to see what move Erik has planned next much to the older mutant’s chagrin. But despite this advantage, Charles is still losing sorely.

“You could at least _let_ me win,” Charles grumbles as Erik takes one of his few remaining pieces off the board.

“You _always_ win.”

“I’ve been _concussed_ , may I remind you.” Erik rolls his eyes.

“Don’t even try the pity card with me, _Schatz._ It’s not going to work,” Erik absentmindedly says as he watches Charles contemplate his next move. “This may very well be the only chance I have of beating you!” he says with a laugh, to which Charles shoots him an unamused look.

“Ah, yes, defeating your lover in a round of chess while he’s got a _concussion_. What a victory that will be!”

“Glad your sarcasm hasn’t been affected by this concussion,” Erik says with a laugh, and Charles laughs along with him.

“Lucky for you,” he says with a smile, eyes on the chessboard. He’s yet to make a move, and Erik goes silent to allow the man some peace and quiet to do so.

Charles huffs, hand coming up to rest under his chin and his elbow resting on the table. Erik watches amusedly, at first, as the telepath continues to scan the board for vulnerabilities, strategies...anything to save the few pieces he has left which Erik’s pieces are quickly closing in on. He doesn’t seem to notice that he’s brought his knight with him, caught between his fingers as he absentmindedly twirls it around.

And then the knight stills and Charles’ eyes slip closed. His body slumps forward a little before he catches himself, jolting back to alertness. Erik smiles a little, but says nothing, pretending not to notice. But he subtly checks the clock on the wall to see what time it is. It’s been a little over three hours. Charles should, and seems to be ready to, get some sleep.

Charles finally makes his move. Erik makes his a moment later, seeing the path to victory, and thus a speedy end to this match, clearly.

Surely Charles knows he’s met his match by now, but he’s determined as ever to try to take back the board. It’s an adorable and admirable attempt, but he’s certainly not going to manage it. And certainly not in this state. He takes another several minutes to decide his next move and again nearly dozes off. Erik gently calls out to him and he hastily makes a move, pretending like he wasn’t nearly asleep again. Over the course of the next few moves, Erik finally takes Charles’ king and the game is over. “This never happened,” Charles says, pointing a finger at him and giving him as stern a look as he can muster. But mostly he just looks like a sleepy kitten in Erik’s eyes. Not the least bit threatening or authoritative. He laughs, making the other man scowl at him, and agrees that it won’t be spoken of ever again. Just to pacify the telepath. Charles wipes his eyes and helps reset the board for the next time they play. Blearily he stretches his arms and smooths back his hair, yawning.

“I think it’s time we got you to bed,” Erik says, getting to his feet.

“I think that might be best,” Charles begrudgingly agrees, standing up slowly.

“C’mon.” Erik takes his arm and leads him out of the room and toward their bedroom, planting a kiss on Charles’ head. Charles hums pleasantly in response, and Erik tugs him closer.

By the time they make it to the bedroom, Charles is practically already asleep, most of his bodyweight being supported by Erik. He collapses on the bed and Erik takes his shoes off for him and helps him into bed. Charles is asleep in seconds.

Erik climbs in after him and loops an arm around him. “Goodnight, _mein Schatz_.” He plants another kiss upon those beautiful brown locks and follows after Charles into a dreamless sleep, feeling confident that despite the serious injury that was sustained, Charles knows how to protect himself now. Erik’s still terrified, secretly, of what might happen when they face Shaw again, but at least now he knows Charles isn’t totally defenseless.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you read? LET ME KNOW! Gimme a kudos. Gimme a comment/review! ~~Gimme a million dollars. Gimme your car. Gimme your first born child.~~ Whatever strikes your fancy! But show your love somehow so I know I did a good thing here, ya feel me?


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